


Not Alone

by ShelbyLehnsherr



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Class Issues, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period Fanfiction, Slash, X-Men: First Class
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyLehnsherr/pseuds/ShelbyLehnsherr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*AU* Erik Lehnsherr has lived on the street a good chunk of his life. He gets into some trouble and Charles Xavier takes him in, much to the displeasure of his mother. Upon discovering the emotionally tortured depths behind Erik, Charles falls for him in the most dangerous of ways. Meanwhile, Charles' mother is trying to arrange him with Moira MacTaggert. Charles is torn between what he wants to do and what he SHOULD do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a night quite like all the others.

Erik stumbled into this part of town completely by accident, having every intention of passing through onto the next (hopefully without any trouble). Various parts of his aching body disagreed with him, urging him to rest. His feet refused to travel any farther, his stomach continuously rumbled with the dissatisfaction of not having a decent meal in the last couple days, and he could barely find the strength to keep his eyes open, to the point where it was a tiresome struggle to see the sidewalk in front of him.

He sought solace in a nearby pub, weakly sinking into a vacant seat at the bar. He did not miss the looks he got from the more swanky patrons, but he trudged forward, trying to concoct a way to get a free drink, for he had no money to afford even the smallest of meals. The bartender was busily trying to get the other men's drink orders, knowing very well that people around these parts did not like to wait for anything. If he wanted a rather generous tip by the end of the evening, he knew better than to complain.

Erik let his eyes fall shut, grimacing as the men in the nearby vicinity roared with obnoxious laughter, clasping a hand on one another's shoulder and giving them a less-than-sober nudge. Whatever plea he managed to think up to offer the bartender was completely lost, finding that he could not think clearly in this cluttered of an atmosphere. His stomach rumbled once more, reminding him yet again of his purpose for coming in the establishment at all. At this point, he would do absolutely anything to settle his stomach for the next day or so. There was only so long he could go without nourishment, and from the looks of his lanky body, he did not have much tolerance left for an empty stomach.

He was jarred out of his thoughts when a man stumbled back into him. He would have been thrown off the stool had he not gripped the edge of the bar with what little strength he did have. The man, crudely, did not apologize and went back to his outrageously daft conversation; practically having to lean on, what he assumed was his friend, for support. Erik's gaze shifted to the bartender, whose back was turned, hurriedly assembling a few drinks, then to the right, where the small crowd of rather elegant looking men stood.

With how polished and refined the town appeared to be, Erik never would have guessed that some of its inhabitants would behave in such an obscene manner. With how little attention they paid him, he could easily assume they did not think quite so highly of him, either. But of course, he did not need to speak for him to jump to that conclusion. His clothes were in a less than favorable condition, the soles of his shoes tattered. His hair was in disarray, wiry and four months shy of a suitable trimming. He hadn't been blessed with a shower in a little over a week, which also meant he hadn't the time to shave. Though, Erik doubted the men around him had enough sense left in their brains to zero in on these flaws.

"That's a good one, ol' chap!" One of the men shouted, slamming his beer bottle down on the bar top, followed by another boisterous laugh. "How about another round? I'll get the tab on this one---," He stopped to finish off what little of the bitter was left in the bottle. The bartender heaved a sigh, still struggling to get other orders out.

Erik turned slightly on the stool, seeing that the man had finally decided to take a seat on the one next to his own. His stomach grumbled again, his head pulsing with unwanted nausea. Evidently, no one would get anything in this town unless they had some money. With how ritzy these people appeared to be, Erik could only imagine how many meals he would be able to indulge in with the money they had.

His fingers itched with temptation -- a brutal temptation that he could not ignore. Now was as perfect a time as ever. He didn't know the next time he would be presented with such an opportunity, so after looking around briefly, Erik slid a hand down into the pocket of the closest man's jacket, remaining undetected until the man lurched forward, his laughter ceasing when a heavy weight fell on his back.

Erik hadn't considered the prospect of what had just occurred. The man released the bottle he'd been holding, it toppling to the floor and shattering upon impact; an unnerving silence dawned on the once bellowing crowd. Quickly, Erik removed his hand, purposely not bringing the wallet with him. He was already in a load of unwanted trouble, and he highly doubted he would be able to do anything to get out of it.

"Just what in the hell do ya think you're doin'?!" The man quipped, stifling a belch from the alcohol that was now circulating in his system. Now, he was turned fully to face Erik, a scornful look plastered on his face. He was clearly buzzed, for he was finding it a difficult task to stand still at the moment.

"I think he was tryin' to pickpocket ya!" Another spoke up, now positioned behind the man staring Erik down like a predator about to unleash an attack on its prey. That much was obvious. They were safe to come to that conclusion seeing Erik's downright dreadful appearance.

Erik took a couple steps back, only to be grabbed by the front of his loose shirt and dragged outside. His body could not find the will to protest as he was thrown against the brick wall of a nearby alley, crumbling to the ground as pain shot up and down his spine.

"I don't know who ya think you're dealin' with here, you little bastard!" The man threatened, giving his other counterpart a sidelong glance. Without wasting another second, he offered a swift kick to Erik's ribs, earning a loud groan of protest in response. The single assault quite literally stole the breath right out of his lungs, and they took the opportune time to force him onto his stomach, digging through his pockets to see if he had indeed taken anything from anyone else already.

Once his pockets were emptied, they only came back with a few cents, which they scoffed at. "Now we know why the bloody hell he was tryin' to take our money, hm?" They snickered, shoving the coins into their own pockets, despite what a laughable amount it was.

Their heads jerked up to the sound of a horse whining; a carriage stopped several yards from where they stood. They took this as their initiative to depart, leaving Erik behind in fits of wheezing coughs.

\---  
There was an art to dinner parties -- one that he was sure was far more complicated than any of the theories in his textbooks, with the way his mother and sister spoke of it in exasperated and half-hushed tones -- and an even greater art to the arranged courtship that blossomed from such an event. He had barely grasped Moira MacTaggert's fingers in his own and raised them to his lips for a chaste kiss (he was, if anything, quite the charming young man) before his mother was trilling about a wedding and the absolute delight it would be to have such a lovely young woman in their family. Though these conversations usually spurred a persistent ache behind his eyes, Charles Xavier had realized from a young age that his mother had very few pleasures in life -- for lovely as she was, she was not known to be the most agreeable woman -- and that if she found some sort of solace in dictating the lives of those around her, he would at least try to simply grin and bear it. Which was why he'd travelled to the MacTaggert estate earlier that evening, despite the fact that he would have highly preferred to stay at home with a good book and the company of his sister in the library, and attended a dinner party that would more or less catapult his relationship with the young woman into more turbulent and martial-based waters.

"Did you enjoy your evening, Mr. Xavier?"

He could hear the smile in the driver's voice -- he'd been taught that servants were meant to be seen and never heard, but it had been years since Charles had considered Hank McCoy to be anything less than friend -- and couldn't help but offer a slight grin in response. Hank was anxious by nature and constantly had a book tucked somewhere on his person, and while he would have done much better at university, Charles was thankful that there was at least one member of the staff that he could freely speak to.

"The MacTaggert's are always a pleasure to dine with." Charles said as he climbed easily into the awaiting carriage. "But thank you for asking."

Hank inclined his head in response as he closed the door, and a few moments later, they were rolling through the streets of London.

"So I hear you're to be a married man sooner than later."

"I assume the maids and kitchen staff have been talking."

He saw Hank shrug and flush bright scarlet, suddenly embarrassed. "Along with your sister."

Charles smiled again -- though she played the part of aloof socialite very well (almost too well, sometimes) he knew that Raven held some sort of soft spot for Hank. He hadn't missed the looks that had passed between them on more than one occasion and the nervous tremor in Hank's voice whenever they spoke. Raven would deny it, of course; she always had, a little too lost under the influence of their mother, and Charles pretended to be none the wiser.

"Then they will all be thoroughly disappointed when I don't live up to their expectations, won't they?"

Hank laughed and shook his head. "You'll send the entire household into a complete frenzy."

"It will be absolutely appalling."

They were rolling easily into the more populated area of the city; the MacTaggert's, much like his own family, had always valued their privacy and chosen not to live directly in town. Though he avoided many of the brightly-lit establishments as often as he could, the glittering restaurants and bars were still familiar to him; his mother had dragged the entire family out on more than one occasion, determined to show off the family she'd worked so hard to groom, and he'd stumbled out quite a few of the bars with friends from school. He watched as a man dressed in a rumpled tuxedo tripped out of one of the pubs, a woman with a harshly-painted face and a wine-colored dress dangling on his arm.

They continued down the avenue together, arms linked and voices loud, but his attention soon wavered from them, instead focusing on the alleyway adjacent to the bar. A group of men were huddled around another, and he could tell from what snatches of conversation he could grab that there was some sort of conflict. Even in the dim light, he could see one raise a leg and level a kick to the victim's side, laughing as he did so.

"...and you'd be forced to -- Mr. Xavier?" Hank stumbled, far too late, and realized that Charles was no longer listening to him.

"Hank, we've got to stop." Faintly, he could hear the men yelling at the other, demanding something.

"S-stop?" Hank twisted around in his seat, staring dubiously at him. "I can't stop --"

"Hank!" Charles was quickly growing impatient; it was obviously some sort of fight, and a group such as that against one was hardly considered fair. "There's a man in the alleyway who's being attacked, we've got to help him."

"Mr. Xavier, we can't stop. It's none of our business..."

His hand was on the door; they weren't moving terribly quickly, he could probably manage to land without too much hassle or hit the ground running all together. He couldn't simply turn a blind eye to the fact that someone was being attacked in an alleyway, no matter whose business it was supposed to be. He swung the door open and prepared to jump, trying to ignore the scene they were causing in the middle of the street.

"Mr. Xavier! Mr. Xavier! You can't!" Hank was stumbling over his words so badly Charles could hardly understand him. "Charles!"

But he was already gone, leaping from the carriage and bounding toward the alleyway, with Hank's cries of protests fading quickly behind him.

He saw the other men scatter before he even reached them; it was obvious that their temporary rush of masculinity had faded and they were prepared to return to their drinks and money. He considered going after them but thought better of it as soon as his gaze landed on the young man huddled in the alleyway. He was wheezing and clutching at his stomach where the others had kicked him, his lip split open and dripping blood down his chin. Charles dropped down in front of him, frantically trying to decide what to address first.

\---  
Despite the pain coursing throughout every limb, all Erik could focus on was catching his breath. For a few moments, it seemed impossible; the slightest intake of breath felt like thousands of pinpricks across his heaving sternum. His vision was spotted with flecks of color, the pounding in his head only worsening as he clenched his eyes shut. He uselessly attempted to avert his breathing pattern back to normal, but he soon knew he would have to wait for the pain to subside on its own.

When the assailants departed, he could have thanked the gods. He was sure that had they continued the attack, it would not have been long before his body would have given out completely. Erik made a move to draw his knees closer to his chest, but the agony from getting slammed into the wall revisited him once more, sending tiny, unpleasant tremors of pain up his spine.

Over the sound of his own labored breathing, he heard rapid footsteps approaching him. Was it one of the attackers coming back for more? He mentally groaned. He could not take any more of this.

Erik's eyelids slowly parted as his coughing ceased, seeing a man, dressed in rather elegant attire kneeling down beside him. His hands were moving frantically, but he did not touch him. It was almost as if he was having trouble deciding what to do. It was clear he'd never been in such an unfortunate situation before.

\---

The man was coughing, obviously trying to regain some sort of normal breathing pattern. From the way he was clutching at his side and wheezing with each breath, Charles feared that the men had damaged something internally -- he had very little experience with any sort of medical practice save for the collection of bumps and bruises he'd doctored himself in his younger days, and saving a man who was lying in the middle of an alleyway was far out of his capabilities.

He turned his head and searched quickly for Hank; though he hadn't heard the other yell after him in the last few moments, he was sure that the carriage was no doubt stopped somewhere nearby.

"Hank!" Charles yelled without rising to his feet, trusting that Hank would hear him and offer some sort of assistance. They needed to move the man; he had no idea where he was from or what he was doing in the alleyway, but it was obvious that he didn't belong there. Even though the blood spattering his clothing, Charles could see the dirt that clung to the fabric, and the scruff along the man's jaw spoke of days without a shave. "Hank!"

He turned his attention back to the man lying across the cobblestones and searched his face, trying to gather his composure enough to speak. "Sir --," He could hear Hank coming, uncertain steps slowly approaching where he was crouched in the alleyway. "-- we're going to have to move you. I know it may be terribly painful, but we've got to get you off the ground and into the carriage."

His mother wouldn't be pleased; he could already see her face, lips pursed and eyes cold, when he brought in a bleeding man from the street. But approval was the very last thing on his mind -- he could have one of the maids look after him until he could have a doctor make a proper call in the morning, just to be safe -- and he turned again as Hank stopped a few feet away, obviously wary of coming any closer.

"Come along, Hank." Charles said, his tone calmer than it had been before now that his mind was capable of rational thought. "We've got to get him into the carriage somehow. He can't very well lie here all night."

"But Charles --" Hank stammered, wringing his hands. "Where are we supposed to take him?"

"Home, of course." He was growing impatient and he raked a hand through his hair. "He's got to be properly looked after. Come on."

Hank was still dubious but he took a few steps forward, eyes wide. "H-home?"

Charles sighed heavily and turned to fully face him. "Yes, Hank, home! I'll move him myself if you don't plan on helping me, but it would go much smoother with your assistance."

The doubt was back in his face but Hank closed the distance between them and leant down, peering into the stranger's face. "He's awfully beat up, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." Charles frowned, meeting the other man's face. "Now, sir, just try to hold as still as possible while we move you, all right? Hank, you take his legs...and be careful, please." He moved to stand at the man's head, leaning down to lift him under the arms.

As soon as his body was lifted off the cobblestone ground, Erik's face contorted with pain. His eyes twisted shut, a low groan slipping from his slightly parted lips. Their footsteps were hurried, trying to haul him over to the carriage as quickly (and painlessly) as possible.

A few of his ribs could have very well been broken, but Erik hoped that he managed to escape with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. The cut on his lip stung, a steady stream of blood oozing from the fresh wound, the tangy taste of copper prominent on his tongue. Erik winced, holding his breath as he was carefully pulled into the carriage, only to release it when he was settled on the plush seat.

His head was spinning. His body ached. His mouth could find no words to speak. Before Erik could begin to express his gratitude, he slipped into unconsciousness, sinking down into the seat as he finally allowed his tired bones to rest.

\---

Together, they were able to move the man to the carriage as quickly as they could manage, but he didn't miss the pain-filled groan that escaped him. Charles clenched his jaw and kept his gaze focused on the path ahead; Hank's eyes were still wide with shock and he was sure that this was one of the most eventful evenings they'd experienced. Once the stranger was arranged as carefully on the seat of the carriage, Charles paused to rake another hand through his hair and sigh. Hank was looking at him expectantly, his hands still fidgeting nervously with his coat.

"I suppose we better hurry along to the house." Charles said quietly, looking at the man again. "And get him inside as quickly as possible. I'll have one of the maids look after him for the night."

Hank nodded and moved to climb the front of the carriage, his movements brisk. He could see the doubt in the young man's face -- he was wondering, as he rightfully should be, how to explain things to anyone they might cross paths with -- and couldn't help but feel a knot of worry twist in the pit of his stomach. Rescuing the man had been completely on impulse; he couldn't very well leave him there, surely, but what to do with him afterward was a completely different issue. He hurriedly got into the carriage and sat across from the other man, who had lost consciousness almost as quickly as he'd been placed safely inside.

A few moments later, they were on their way again, leaving behind the glittering lights of the city as they rolled toward the Xavier mansion.

-End of Chapter One-


	2. Chapter 2

Charles awoke to a fierce pounding on his door and the less-than-hushed voice of his sister on the other side. Before he could even throw back the sheets and get out of bed, Raven burst through the door, nearly tripping over her skirt in her hurry to get into the room. It slammed shut behind her and she stared at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and frantic. He sat up, still bleary-eyed with sleep, and opened his mouth to speak, but she barreled over him.

"Why is there someone staying in the guest room on the second floor?"

"Good morning to you, too, Raven." he said groggily, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. "And wherever have you heard something like that?"

They'd managed to move the man from the carriage to the house and into one of the spare bedrooms without much fuss -- the first maid who'd happened upon them had nearly had a fit, of course, but Charles had managed to coax her into staying quiet about the entire ordeal until he could broach the subject himself.

His mother and sister had already been in their separate rooms by the time he returned and Hank had hastily agreed to keep the evening under wraps. He should have seen the inevitable coming, though; from the look on his sister's face, it was obvious that someone had talked. And very quickly.

"The maids like to talk, remember?" She was too troublesome for her own good, Charles decided. He wondered what she knew, what sort of stories the staff had invented in a few hours' time. It was sure to be a highly exaggerated and terribly far from the truth and he hoped that his mother hadn't heard any of it yet. "I ran into one of them on the stairs this morning and she was more than willing to ask me about our visitor."

Charles sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Raven, he was --"

"Bleeding in an alleyway after a bar fight." His sister finished for him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She studied his face, and Charles was suddenly uncomfortable from the severity of her gaze. "Charles, what were you thinking?"

"He was being attacked!" he said defensively. "I've no idea how he got into the alleyway; it could have been from any number of things! Hank and I never saw him leave the bar, we only happened upon him afterwards."

Raven quirked a brow and pursed her lips in a way so familiar to his mother that Charles could have cringed. "That's not what everyone else is saying." she said bluntly, as though the staff of the mansion had been present in the alleyway and he'd been somewhere else. "I heard that you and Hank found him stupidly drunk in the alleyway, bruised and bleeding because he was caught stealing. They also said that he's lower class."

Charles laughed, sharp and bitter. He should have known that it was only a matter of time before the subject of class was thrown into the mix of things; though many of the staff couldn't have been any better off financially than the man currently staying in their guest room, they were at least employed and in possession of a place of residence. "Considering the fact that he was unconscious before I had a chance to speak to him, Raven, I don't even know his name, much less what class he belongs to. And I hardly see how it matters."

"You haven't told Mother yet, have you?"

"Of course not." Charles said, looking at her critically. "And I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't tell her yet either."

Raven sighed, but her expression softened somewhat. "You're too kind for your own good, Charles." she said quietly, her hand wrapping around the door knob. "I only hope you know what you're doing."

\---

All it took was the faint chirping of the birds outside to stir Erik from his slumber.

For a split second, he hadn't the foggiest of an idea where he was and how he got there, but then it all came rushing back to him. He wasn't lying on a cobblestone street, but rather a large bed. The tattered clothes he had been wearing were long gone and replaced with a more presentable ensemble.

Erik brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. It was the first time in a long time he had the opportunity to catch a decent amount of rest. His body no longer ached as horribly as it did the night before, but there was still a dull throb from the cut on his lower lip. Upon further inspection of his appearance, he took note that his hair was no longer in disarray, and his face had been properly shaven. In fact, the scent of soap lingered on his skin, thus allowing him to relish in what it felt like to have a shower after several days of going without.

Last night, he'd only caught a brief glimpse of what his 'savior' looked like. Through his blurred vision, there were only a few features that stuck out in his mind. He saw a top hat, the shiny leather shoes, and as he was being carried back to the carriage, he heard the gentle clinking of a pocket watch chain in his ears.

Erik heaved a sigh, and then swallowed thickly around the uncomfortable lump in his throat. Even though he was eternally grateful for what had been done, it was incredibly unnerving to wake up in a place unfamiliar to you. Living on the streets, he was able to familiarize himself with a lot of different areas. By this time, he knew what streets he should and should not go down, what bars he should and should not go into. What types of places he would and would not be accepted into.

He blamed his tired state for his miscalculation the previous night.

The slightest hint of nausea came to the forefront of his mind and he allowed himself to settle back down into the pillows. Not knowing the next time he would get an opportunity to sleep in an establishment as luxurious as this, Erik closed his eyes and permitted sleep to consume his body once more.

\---

The dining room was decidedly silent when he entered a half hour later. While mealtimes had never truly been the most talkative times in the Xavier household, complete silence was somewhat unusual. Everyone was there, of course -- his stepfather, Kurt, seated at the very head of the table, a newspaper spread in front of him and a rather bored expression on his face; his mother to the right of him, looking pinched and rather irked; his stepbrother, Cain, right beside his mother, his face already half-stuffed with toast and eggs; and Raven, seated alone on one side, looking as though she would have gladly allowed the rug beneath her feet to swallow her whole. She refused to look at him when he sat down beside her, but she was gripping her fork so tightly her knuckles were white, and Charles felt the knot that had appeared in the pit of his stomach last night return tenfold.

He should have known.

He trusted Raven, truly he did. Though there were a number of years between them, she had always been his constant companion and secret-keeper, and he had very few childhood memories that did not include her running along after him. She was a bright, headstrong girl -- though insufferable at times, he couldn't help but admire such a trait -- but true as that was, their mother had means of persuasion that bordered on being completely unethical.

"You returned home quite late last night, Charles." Sharon Xavier said mildly over the rim of her tea cup, but he could see the question she was burning to ask. "I trust you had a pleasant evening with the MacTaggert family?"

"I did."

"She's such a lovely girl, Moira. I'm quite fond of her." she continued, and Charles took a sip of his tea, dreading the conversation they were inevitably going to have in a matter of moments. "But you must tell me, Charles, what possibly kept you so long?"

Beside him, Raven's fork dropped to her plate with a jarring clatter; she scrambled to pick it up, murmuring quick apologies. Charles swallowed and glanced sideways, wondering just what his mother had said to Raven to make her explain their current house guest.

Charles shrugged, feigning an air of casualty. "One conversation led to another, you know. Time escaped us." He'd never been a terribly effective liar, and he cringed when his mother narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's quite interesting, Charles." she said slowly. "Because I've heard otherwise."

"Really?"

She nodded and smiled, but the edges were sharp. "Really. I've heard otherwise from quite a number of people, actually. Including dear Raven."

Even his stepfather had looked up by now, the newspaper and coffee forgotten beside him. Raven still had her head down, blonde curls hiding her face. He waited for his mother to continue, because he knew he was caught.

"Imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning, Charles, and discovered from one of the maids that we had a guest arrive in the middle of the night." Mrs. Xavier began coolly. "And that this guest, apparently, arrived in a less than desirable condition and had no relation or acquaintance with anyone in the household. I certainly did not want to believe it, as you can very well imagine, and I would have dismissed it as pure folly had your sister not informed me otherwise."

There was a lengthy, uncomfortable pause, during which Charles opened his mouth to speak and was again interrupted.

"Your sister was kind enough to relay to me the conversation that you two had earlier this morning." Mrs. Xavier said, and he could hear the anger building in her voice. "She's told me that not only did you bring home a guest, but that this guest was found in an alleyway in the city. I must say, Charles, I thought you were above making such stupid decisions."

"He was the victim of some sort of attack. Hank and I were passing by when we saw what was happening. Surely you aren't suggesting that I should have left him there." Charles argued, already tired.

"Charles," his mother said, as if he were a child again and not an adult capable of making his own decisions, "if this man was being attacked, he must be some sort of trouble."

"Trouble? Honestly, Mother."

"Do you know anything about this man, Charles? Do you know his name? His family? His background?" The anger was there in a sharp burst. "Do you know anything of his situation? He could be a criminal off the streets for all you know, Charles, and you have willingly allowed him into our home."

It was true, and that was perhaps the most frustrating thing of all: he knew nothing of the man he'd rescued last night. He could have been anyone, as his mother had said, but Charles wanted to believe otherwise. "I couldn't leave him." he said again.

"Your inability to make a rational decision astounds me, Charles." Mrs. Xavier said. "Bringing home a man in an alleyway like a stray pet. It's quite appalling."

He'd had enough. Tossing his napkin onto the untouched plate of food in front of him, he rose quickly from his chair, jaw clenched in frustration. The conversation wasn't over, he knew, but he'd had quite enough for the time being. He should've known that the focus would not center on the fact that he'd saved someone from an extremely unfortunate situation -- he wasn't entirely sure what to call last night, really -- but on the identity, background, and situation of the person. In his mother's eyes, everything else was of very little importance.

"Charles --," Raven sounded completely miserable and on the verge of tears, reaching out to grab his wrist. He side-stepped her hand easily -- he wasn't angry with her, couldn't be angry with her, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her right now either -- and moved to the door, angrier than he'd been in quite a while.

"I think I've had enough of breakfast, thank you." he said tightly, turning on his heel and leaving his family sitting in the dining room, momentarily stunned into the same silence he'd found them in.

 **-End of Chapter Two-**


	3. Chapter 3

Charles could have gone any number of places. He could have gone back to his bedroom; he could have gone to the library, where a pile of texts awaited him; he could have even retreated to the grounds, where he could be lost for the day and avoid any sort of company. But as he neared the foyer of the house, he found himself climbing the stairwell, passing the first landing on his way to the second floor. It was midmorning; surely the man was awake by now, or had at least awoken for a brief period of time, long enough to have a maid check on him. As he neared the landing, he noticed one of the maids coming down -- the same young woman who'd discovered them last night, he realized -- and he stopped as she met him on the stairwell.

"How is he?"

Unlike the other members of the household, she offered a small smile. "He's doing much better." she said quietly, as though she was afraid of being overhead. Perhaps she knew of the argument in the dining room and thought it best to be unaffected by the entire situation. "I've checked on him a few times this morning; he's been sleeping, the poor thing."

It was comforting to see that he wasn't alone in his desire to help the unknown man; the maid's sympathy was so unlike his mother's quick judgment. Charles nodded, relieved at the news. The damage must not have been as terrible as he originally thought. "Thank you for that." he said, and he truly meant it. He moved to continue up the stairs -- if he was doing better, he must be able to handle a quick visit -- and the maid nodded and continued on her way as well.

"And Mr. Xavier?" He was on the last step when she spoke again, quiet and hesitant, and he turned to look in her direction. "It's very kind, what you did. No matter what anyone else says."

He smiled and opened his mouth to thank her, but she was already moving down the stairs with a rustling of skirts, on to the next task. He watched her descend the stairs and turn the corner into the sitting room before continuing again to the guest bedroom.

Once outside, Charles raised his hand and knocked quietly, hoping that the man was awake. He took a step back and tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, waiting.

\---

At one point or another, Erik expected someone to come knocking on his door. As soon as he heard the three quiet thumps on the mahogany, his thoughts wandered. Was it someone coming to tell him that now he had a night's shelter to get out? Was it someone coming to express their hatred of the fact that he'd stayed at all? Or perhaps was it someone coming by to insist (by a slim chance) that he may stay and recuperate for as long as he needed and to take his time?

He was of low class, and that much was already quite clear. The establishment in which he was staying was obviously not of the same. Regardless of what the outcome could have been, Erik mentally prepared himself for whoever stood on the other side of the door, ready to accept whatever it is they threw at him and take his leave.

Erik sighed lowly as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and then pushed himself up and out of the bed. His stomach was twisted in an uncomfortable knot, not really knowing what he would say to whoever wanted to speak with him. However, no matter what they said, he would insist that he go, so as not to impose on the current residents.

A hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob, slowly turning it and opening it to face someone he hadn't expected to see. Without a doubt, it was the man that saved him the night previous. If it was another thing he could make out amongst the blurriness of his vision at the time, was those brilliant blue eyes. He swallowed thickly, judging by the man's expression that he wasn't seeing quite what he expected either.

\---

Moments passed. The man must have still been resting -- judging from the dark circles Charles had been able to see beneath his eyes and the disarray of his appearance, he was a man of few comforts and many hardships. A familiar rush of sympathy gripped him; unlike most of his family, he couldn't bring himself to simply turn a blind eye to those who were less fortunate. His mother would have said it was his biggest flaw, and perhaps it was. Maybe no sensible person would have brought in a stranger from the streets after all.

He rocked back on his heels, momentarily considering the idea of leaving his unknown house guest well enough alone. He deserved the momentary respite he was receiving and didn't need to be bothered, especially not by the silly questions Charles wanted to ask him. Charles was beginning to turn on his heel when the door opened, and he snapped back around, the beginnings of a sheepish smile fading from his face as soon as he caught sight of the other man's appearance.

The disheveled man that he'd found lying in an alleyway was gone, replaced instead by someone who could have easily been seen at one of his mother's upper class gatherings. His hair had been properly combed and washed, and his face was freshly shaven. Though the split lip and near-startling thinness still gave him away, Charles barely recognized the man leaning in the doorway of the guest bedroom.

He realized he was staring a moment too late and dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, clearing his throat before he spoke. "Oh, well, good morning." he said, wincing briefly at the awkward edge in his voice. "I must say that I didn't expect you to be awake and looking quite so...polished. How are you feeling?"

Erik quirked a curious brow, resisting the urge to chuckle at the other mans response to him opening the door. Least to say, he too had forgotten what he'd looked like after so long of living in hardship; mainly because his appearance was always the most trivial of his worries. Day by day, he would struggle to get an adequate amount of food, a decent place to rest, and the rarest of them all -- a bath. His clothes would cling to his sweaty skin, already caked with dirt and blood from wounds he sustained whilst engaging in a brawl with some of the less-than-compassionate townspeople (wherever he happened to be).

He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling quite as refreshed as he did this morning. His clothes were new. Weeks of filth scrubbed off his skin and coarse, irritating hairs shaved from his face. When he looked in the mirror, he was in absolute disbelief. He doubted the person he was seeing. The person he was used to struggled most of his life and had the lowest reputation imaginable (if he had one at all), but now there were too many thoughts running through his mind to perfectly describe what he felt.

"I'm fine, thank you." Erik replied nonchalantly, a hand going up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his head. Now that it all came down to it, he really did not know what to say to this man. What exactly were you supposed to say to someone that could have gotten seriously hurt (had the attackers returned) in an effort to help you? His mouth was suddenly dry and his gaze fell onto the doorframe, staring idly at the intricate grooves in the wood finish. The silence that lingered between them for what seemed like several minutes (but was actually a few seconds) grew increasingly uncomfortable, but a neutral expression remained on Erik's face.

\---

Silence stretched between them -- it shouldn't have been this difficult to find something to say, he knew, but what was there to say to a complete stranger? -- And Charles shifted from one foot to the other, a nervous habit he'd long since given up on quitting. Though the question was on the very tip of his tongue, he felt that it would be rude and far too soon to ask just how he'd ended up in that alleyway and why, exactly, he'd been the victim of such an attack. His mother's words crawled back to the front of his mind -- he could be a criminal off the street, Charles -- but he pushed them back, wanting to give this man the benefit of the doubt.

The city wasn't the safest of places, even in the nicer areas of town, and they had passed through rather late in the evening, after all. Any number of things could have happened, and he wanted to believe that there was no reason to regret allowing this man into his home.

Once the silence became almost intolerable, Charles cleared his throat again and looked up, meeting the man's gaze. "I seem to have forgotten my manners completely," he said, letting out a brief laugh as he extended his hand. "We hardly had any time for introductions last night, I'm afraid. My name's Charles Xavier."

Erik simply looked at the man's -- Charles' -- outstretched hand for a few seconds too long before he reached forward, clasping his hand firmly. It was warm and soft, not quite as calloused as his own, which had come to be expected. Just looking at Charles he began to assume a lot of things. Right off the bat, he could make the assumption that Charles had lived his life free from hardship. Numerous things could have given it away: his clothing -- dapper and elegant; the house -- obscenely ornate and furnished with antiques; even his manners -- proper and polite, all of the qualities that Erik was without.

"Erik Lehnsherr." He replied finally, releasing Charles hand and letting his own slip back into 'his' trousers. It was obvious this man meant no harm; he only wanted to help. He hadn't come up to the guestroom to kick him back out onto the street, but he hadn't quite yet clarified exactly why he decided to make an appearance. Why introduce himself? Why bother if he wasn't going to be there much longer? Not that he didn't want to know the identity of his savior, but it was almost too bittersweet. Any moment now he was anticipating the worse part of this visit.

"I will not be staying much longer," Erik starts, then clearing his throat. "But I do thank you for the hospitality." Truth be told, he did not feel welcome here. He did not feel that someone of his class should ever step foot into a place like this. But even so, he was compelled to stay. He would forever be, even if he didn't state it outright, in Charles debt.

He took the opportunity to study the other man just as he was being studied; Charles, who had spent a vast majority of his childhood and boarding school years observing those around him, was well aware of the moment he was under the same sort of scrutiny he usually imposed. It wasn't invasive or offensive in the slightest -- in fact, it was almost amusing, the way they were both so wary of one another. There wasn't much that he could tell from the other man's appearance other than his initial realization that it was so different from the night before; he was dressed in borrowed clothing, after all, and he had no other possessions with him. Charles could only assume that his mother and sister had been correct in their assumptions that this man was of a lower status than his own family, a trivial, almost petty thing that didn't matter to him in the slightest.

Lehnsherr. The name was unfamiliar, foreign -- German, if he guessed correctly. Charles smiled when the introductions were finally out of the way and Erik had released his hand; he could now match a name to a face and form some sort of familiarity with it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Erik, even if it was under such unfortunate circumstances." he said quietly, acknowledging for the first time the reason behind his stay at the mansion.

Erik's words were somewhat of a shock; he'd been opening his mouth to make another frivolous, unhelpful comment about how he hoped he was feeling much better now that he'd had a full night's rest, but he couldn't help but gape slightly following such a comment. Had the other man believed that he was only coming to the bedroom to ask him to leave? While he would not have put it past the other members of the household, telling Erik to leave was the very last thing on his mind. He seemed to be recovering quite well, of course, but he could obviously do for another night's undisturbed sleep and a meal or two. There was no reason for him to leave as far as Charles was concerned.

"Oh, no!" Charles sputtered, holding his hands in front of him. "I can assure you that that is not the reason behind my visit -- truly it's not. I haven't come to ask you to leave."

Both of Erik's brows rose, taken slightly aback by the others insistence that he wasn't asking him to go. "Even so," He said, almost immediately after Charles stopped speaking. "I do not think that this is a place for me." Clearly, it was not. He did not belong here. Surely he could not have been the only one who saw it that way. What could he offer this family? He did not have money, nor a title of high social status, so what else was there?

"Not...not the place?" Charles felt the beginnings of a frown tug the corners of his mouth downward as his brow furrowed in momentary confusion. Agreeing to leave in a timely fashion -- even if such a thing had hardly been requested -- was the polite thing to do, Charles knew; never mind the fact that he was in desperate need of a small period of recovery.

Worry again settled into the pit of his stomach as realization hit him: perhaps Erik had overhead a bit of conversation between the household staff in the corridor or even in his own bedroom -- they'd always been rather careless with their opinions, after all -- and had made his decision based on that alone.

"Don't be silly, Erik." he said easily, flashing a quick smile that was meant to smooth over any un-pleasantries in the conversation. "You've got to stay."

Charles adamancy was quite endearing. He'd only talked to him, really talked to him, for the last five minutes. Erik could not wrap his head around why Charles wanted him to stay. There was simply no reason for his continued inhabitance here. However, because Charles did pull him out of harm's way, he felt it owed it to him. If Charles wanted him to stay, then stay he would.

Erik's uncertain gaze fell to the floor for a moment before he looked back up into those bright cerulean eyes. "Alright." His tone wavered slightly, as if he were afraid to give that answer. Regardless of the fact that he agreed to remain here at the estate, he still felt uncomfortable -- almost like he was taking advantage of their hospitality when his class said he did not deserve it.

He could nearly sense Erik's discomfort; it was obvious that he did not feel welcome there. It was easily understandable, honestly -- Charles was probably the first and only person in the entire household to speak to him and acknowledge that he was, in fact, an actual person. Charles himself wasn't entirely sure why he felt so compelled to have Erik stay; he'd only just met him, and their conversation hardly justified any sort of camaraderie between them, but there was something about Erik that intrigued him. He smiled again when Erik agreed to stay, but he didn't miss the uncertainty in his tone.

"If it would make you feel better," he said, "though it would be completely unnecessary, honestly, as you're to be considered a guest of sorts...the groundskeeper is always in need of some assistance. I could introduce you to him, if you'd like."

Erik's discomfort softened slightly at the mention of him actively helping out on the estate's grounds. Now that he would be offering something in return for a bed to sleep in and food to eat, he felt more open to the idea of staying for the time being. He did not know how long he would be tolerant of the idea, but for now, it worked. What else could he have done? Where else could he go? How would he be able to get by? Certainly not the way he had been. "Please," He said. "Introduce us."

Another grin crossed his face and he stepped back into the corridor, gesturing for Erik to follow suit. If the man would be more at ease with assisting the staff -- Charles found it unnecessary and was tempted to protest against it, but he knew that this was possibly the only reason he could get Erik to stay at the mansion for a little while longer -- then he would be willing to make the needed arrangements. "Of course," he said brightly, turning to walk down the corridor and toward the stairwell. "Come along, then. We'll have to hunt him down."

 **-End of Chapter Three-**


	4. Chapter 4

**Not Alone - AU**

 **Chapter Four**

\---

Three days had passed without much incident. There were, of course, disapproving looks cast over morning cups of tea and again over glasses of wine at dinner, pursed lips and barbed comments that were meant to sting but never quite found their mark. His mother was unstoppable in her quest to make her displeasure at their houseguest known, his stepfather and stepbrother far past caring for anything relating to the other man at all, and Raven caught somewhere quite in the middle of things, as she so often was. Charles distanced himself as much as possible from many of the members of the household, ignored the half-hushed whispers of the staff, and tried to remain resolute on the decision he’d made days prior.

Though the mansion was quite spacious and the likelihood of intruding on another’s personal space rather unlikely, Charles still chose to escape to the upper levels of the house for privacy’s sake. Nothing occupied the rooms there other than his father’s old books and records, all tucked away and organized neatly in a manner that only he truly understood. It was here that he chose to keep his own personal study, a high-ceilinged room that overlooked the expanse of back lawns and forest in the distance and the place he spent most of his spare time. His mother and stepfather never bothered climbing the last two flights of stairs to bother him there, and though Raven knocked tentatively at the heavy oak door on occasion, he passed most of his hours here in quiet and solitude.

Sunlight poured in through the windows, slicing across the floor is wide expanses of bright light. There was a book open on his lap but he’d hardly read passed the first few pages, occupied instead with the activity taking place on the lawns below. After finding the groundskeeper and introducing the old man to Erik, an agreement of sorts had been arranged; their new houseguest would do whatever the groundskeeper asked of him in exchange for room and board, a stigma that Charles was still rather uncomfortable with. He saw no need for the other man to work in order to repay whatever debt he believed he owed, but Charles could see the determination in the other man’s eyes and couldn’t bring himself to argue any longer. Both groundskeeper and guest were currently working together in one of the various gardens around the mansion, covered in top soil and dirt up to their elbows. It was unseasonably warm, and he watched as the groundskeeper leaned heavily against his shovel and wiped at his brow with the back of his hand.

“She’s still quite livid over this whole situation, you know.”

He hadn’t heard her come in but she stood calmly behind him, the expression on her face containing the slightest bit of apprehension.

“I’m well aware, Raven.” he struggled to keep his tone neutral, wary of hurting her feelings. It wasn’t her fault, of course; she was relaying only what she’d seen, even though he would have been able to see it himself even if he was blind. “But what would you expect me to do?”

She shrugged, just a brief rise and fall of her thin shoulders. “I never said that I was livid over the entire situation.” she said, taking a seat in the empty armchair next to him. “I rather think she should have expected it. You always did manage to bring in a handful of stray animals when we were younger.”

He frowned at her and returned to looking out of the window. “He’s not a stray animal, Raven.”

“I know, Charles!” The expression on her face melted easily into one of hurt, though he knew it was partially for show. “I was only joking. It’s quite a lovely thing you’re doing, honestly.” She nudged her foot against the side of his leg and smiled, an attempt to smooth things over between them. It would work, of course; she was far too clever for her own good, and she’d had him wrapped around her finger for years. “But you know that Mother isn’t quite so understanding.”

His attention was still drawn to the activity taking place below them; the groundskeeper was relaying some sort of direction, gesturing wildly with his hands as Erik listened. From what he could observe, Erik had found some sort of company with the older man, an acceptance that escaped him with much of the household. A moment later, the groundskeeper clapped a hand to Erik’s shoulder and walked off in the direction of the further ends of the house, in search of what Charles could only assume to be lunch. But Erik stayed behind, lingering in the grass near the gardens, and Charles quickly stood from his chair.

“Then she’ll have to continue to send me withering looks across the dinner table for a while longer, won’t she?” he quipped, bending at the waist to drop a quick kiss to Raven’s cheek. She looked puzzled, but any sort of question went unspoken as he left her alone in the study, bound instead for the grounds.

\---

As the week progressed, Erik grew more and more accustomed to daily life at the mansion. He’d picked up on most of the residents’ daily routines, like how every afternoon Raven would have tea with her mother out on the second floor balcony. Through the downstairs windows, he could see the maids hurriedly, but carefully, cleaning the various, elegant rooms -- sometimes even doing it twice over so ensure that not a speck of dust or dirt was left behind. He’d caught on with the fact that the Lady of the house had a very strict way of running the household. Her husband appeared to be in the background, being an objective third party with no personal care of anything his wife said. He simply let her do as she wished -- things seemed to be easier that way.

Erik was well aware of the fact that Charles’ mother did not approve of him staying under their hospitality. From the very beginning, Erik believed he might be taking advantage of their generosity by remaining here, but Sharon Xavier made it plainly obvious that he was. Her opinions had a tendency, over time, to be set in stone as facts. What he did not know, however, was the turmoil amongst the family because of Charles’ insistence that he stay. Maybe it be best that he not take any part whatsoever in their personal affairs, and focus on his new work to hopefully make it seem like he was less of a burden.

“You seem to be doing a fine job, my boy!” William, the eldest groundskeeper praised as he strolled up, shovel in hand. “They outta take in more of you youngin’s -- get a lot more work done!” An exasperated laugh slipped from his dry lips. “I finished the bit we didn’t get to yesterday --,” He started, gesturing over his shoulder to the adjacent side of the lawn. “And now I’m gonna help ya finish the rest of this so ya don’t gotta spend the rest o’ the night out here, sound good?”

Erik chuckled lowly as he dug another hole in the garden; Mrs. Xavier had very specific instructions on what types of greenery she wanted planted in ‘her’ gardens. Anything else was simply unacceptable. “You really don’t have to. I’m sure I can handle it.” He scooped the dirt onto the already existing pile, then wiping his dirt covered hands on his slacks, stopping a moment to relax his aching muscles. He worked day in and day out -- but he was sure the ache would fade once he got more and more used to being here.

“Nonsense!” William exclaimed, leaning against his shovel and wiping his forehead with the back of his filthy hand. “You been workin’ longer than I have today. Not that it’s a bad thing ‘er nothin’. Yer young -- use the muscles while ya got ‘em, eh?” Another laugh was punctuated by a wheezing cough. Erik didn’t know how William was able to work every day on the mansion grounds in the scorching heat. He looked like he was going on about sixty-five or so. He had a tooth missing here and there, the skin on his face sagging, eyes drooping, limbs thin and frail, whereas Erik was considerably toned and in shape. It only made sense that he work.

Erik said nothing as he went back to digging, sweat dripping down the side of his face as the heat of the sun beamed torturously down on him. William sighed heavily and pursed his chapped lips, staring out over the lawn, as if in thought. Erik glanced over at him briefly before turning his attention back on the task at hand. He didn’t miss the solemn look in the others tired eyes. “What?” Erik finally asked, a hint of concern in his tone. William treated him like the son he never had, so it was natural he’d be somewhat worried when something was troubling him.

“I’ve just been thinkin’ back on all the years that I been here. Lotta work has been done, I tell ya. Lotta people come in and outta here, but I always stuck around. I ain’t got nowhere to go…it’s not so bad here, though. I don’t mind stayin’.” William rambled on. “I really hope you don’t plan on stayin’ as long as I have. You’ve got a lotta potential to do other things. Someone like you don’t need to be here and put up with Mrs. Xaviers craziness!” He flailed his arms, then laughed wildly. “But you do good work.” He clasped a hand on Erik’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Erik turned his head to smile somewhat sheepishly, then offering the other man a warm chuckle. “Go on. I can finish up here.”

William seemed more than willing to take Erik up on that offer. He released his grip on his shoulder and removed his shovel from the dirt. “All right, son. You need any help, you know where to find me, okay?” Erik nodded in response and watched as William strode across the lawn to the little shack on the other end of the property.

He sighed softly, and then continued to dig. A lot of work still had to be done.

\---

Erik was still working as he crossed the lawns -- William was long gone; Charles could just see him ambling toward his small cottage on the edge of the property, moving with the awkward gait he’d been in possession of for a number of years. He paused a few feet away, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he observed the other man. Not for the first time in the days he’d been staying at the mansion, Charles wondered just how Erik had ended up in the alleyway that night; while conflicts in bars sometimes spilled into the streets of the city, he’d never seen one take place in the area of the town where he’d found Erik. There was something undoubtedly intriguing about the other man -- Raven, had she been there to provide her own opinion, would have said that it was nothing more than Charles’ never-ending desire to sympathize with every person he met -- and though he did not want to pry, he couldn’t help but want to learn a small portion of Erik’s history.

“Care for a break?”

It was early afternoon, at the very least; they’d been working in the gardens all morning, and while the temperature had dropped slightly in comparison to the weeks prior, it was still quite warm. Despite his mother’s rather demanding expectations, William and the other members of the staff had made excellent progress in very little time, and there was no harm in a small diversion.

“I was going to have tea.” Charles continued with an easy smile, taking a few steps so that he was standing closer to Erik. “Would you like to join me? You’ve been out here all day.”

\---

It wasn’t the first time Charles had come outside to engage in small talk.

However, now Charles was asking if he would like to join him for tea. Every other time had quite literally been small talk before Charles made his way back into the mansion. It wasn’t his place to ask what he might be doing in there to keep him occupied for the entire day. When he saw the backdoors of the porch open, a small smile tugged at the corners of Erik’s lips. When Charles was around, Erik felt unusually calm -- and felt like he didn’t need to watch what he said, for risk of getting kicked out. Charles repeatedly hinted at the fact that he did not want him to feel obligated to leave anytime soon, which was comforting, even though he knew the rest of the family wouldn’t have been opposed to him leaving.

There was a gentle smile on Charles face as he stepped even closer to him. Erik’s own smile widened a fraction, wiping some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Charles was much less…hostile, than the rest of his family. There was a certain fondness in his eyes that he was sure no one else in the world could duplicate. “I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his head almost awkwardly before nodding. “Yeah, tea sounds good.” Erik couldn’t imagine that tea would be very quenching in the presence of this heat, but he wasn’t about to object.

Charles watched the briefest hint of confusion flicker across Erik’s sharp features; he would have laughed at it had it not been considered so obviously rude. Though he supposed that he should have been a little more understanding when it came to the other man’s wariness of having another member of the Xavier household speak to him, he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the apparent oddity of it. They hadn’t spoken much in the time that Erik had been staying there, but the occasional brief conversation had taken place -- Charles often grew restless in his work, especially when the weather was nice, and a walk across the lawns gave him the small reprieve he needed before returning to the study -- and he did, admittedly, always take the path that would allow him to walk past the other man. He enjoyed his company, however few and far between their encounters were.

There was a pause in which he knew Erik was debating whether to accept or politely decline his request for tea. The remainder of the groundskeeping staff had dispersed already, and though he knew the idea of coming into the house more than was strictly necessary made Erik uncomfortable, he truly hoped that he would agree. His mother and Raven weren’t due to take tea until mid-afternoon, and even then they seated themselves on the balcony while he stayed in the study.

“Wonderful,” Charles said, smiling widely before turning to return to the mansion. “Everything should be squared away in the study, then, and I can always send word to the kitchens if you’d like something else. Tea might not be the most pleasant after you’ve been working in the heat all day, I’m afraid.”

Erik’s eyebrows rose in surprise -- it was almost as if the other man read his mind. “No, no, tea is fine.” He assured the noble as he followed quietly, leaving the shovel behind. His steps were overly calculated and wary. His eyes scanned the premises, faintly apprehensive as he expected a member of Charles family to appear unannounced (and to be quite frank, unwelcome). Even though no one was currently present in the area, Erik could feel eyes burning holes in his back. He didn’t dare look up, thinking for a millisecond that Mrs. Xavier and Raven had stepped out to have their tea on the balcony a bit early.

The trek to Charles’ study was lengthy -- the silence that lingered between them for the duration of the walk made it one of the most awkward positions Erik has ever been in. It didn’t help that the maids gave him confused, and somewhat frightened looks. It seems they too were afraid of what Mrs. Xavier would do if she found out her son was having tea with the stray.

Charles opened the door to his study and allowed Erik to walk inside first. This was quite possibly the only room in the mansion that wasn’t neat and tidy. Books were scattered everywhere, right along with various papers and official documents; the shelves were lined with more books, which were covered in layers upon layers of dust. Despite all the disarray, there looked to be some kind of order -- an order that only Charles would ever be able to understand. With all the mess, it appeared as if the maids were forbidden to clean it. The slightest move of anything in the study could have thrown Charles order completely off. On the adjacent side of the room, there was a small table, two chairs, and the tea was already set out and ready for the company of two people.

Charles gestured to the chair opposite to the one he approached, and then sat down gracefully. “Excuse the mess,” He said with a polite smile. Erik accepted the seat gratefully, sinking down into the cushioned seat somewhat timidly. He tried not to appear even slightly uncomfortable, and did a good job of it, because Charles was smiling at him. It was a real smile -- not a sad, worrisome one. Erik cleared his throat, hands balling up into fists as they came to rest on his thighs -- not entirely sure what to do with them at this moment. “With how much time you spend in that house, I can assume you’re quite the busy man.” So why was Charles taking some time to have some tea with him? He was nothing but a mere servant at the mansion now. Spending time with the help should not have been on Charles agenda -- and if his mother found out, Erik was sure it would not be ever again.

 **-End of Chapter Four-**


	5. Chapter 5

**Not Alone - AU**

 **Chapter Five**

\---

They were tucked safely away in the study -- despite his mother’s most persistent requests, it was the one room in the entire mansion that he forbade many from entering since he’d discovered the appeal of such a place during his youth. It had always been the room in which he’d known that he could find his father, a pipe in his hand, a heavy book open on the great oak desk or across his lap and an indulgent smile on his face as soon as he discovered his son’s presence. Following his death, it had remained unused for months, for his stepfather had no time for books and his mother had never spent very much time in that wing of the house. Steadily, however, it had become Charles’ sanctuary.

He led Erik up the stairs and through the corridors, ignoring the sidelong glances the maids sent them. There would be talk, of course; groundskeepers and their help usually didn’t enter the house, especially in the company of a member of the family. But he was no stranger to the gossip that swept through his home like wildfire at the slightest whiff of change, and was hardly bothered by it as he continued on his way. Glancing over his shoulder at the man trailing behind him, Charles offered a warm smile as he stopped in front of the door at the end of the corridor and opened it, allowing Erik to walk in first. Because he was so determined to have one room in the house that was only his, the study had quickly fallen into disarray -- he’d never been one for the manic displays of order his mother strove for, and any attempts at tidying up were often left unfinished. The mess had never bothered him; in fact, he was capable of finding anything he needed to within the four walls of the room.

“Excuse the mess,” he said politely, taking a seat across from Erik. He’d ordered for two in the hopes that the other man would, in fact, join him, and he was quite pleased that he had. As soon as they were both seated, he began pouring tea -- an old habit, for he was so used to spending this time of day alone -- but he paused with the kettle poised over Erik’s cup, interrupted by the other man’s sudden comment. Smiling again, he shrugged his shoulders rather indifferently and stifled a laugh. “To be perfectly honest, it’s not that I’m a busy man so much as I just prefer the peace and quiet.” he said, finding it almost surprisingly easy to be so candid with a man he hardly knew.

Erik thought it would be rather moronic to ask “what could possibly keep you occupied up here for so long?” With the walls lined with more books than he cared to count, it was quite obvious. He could understand why Charles would want the peace and quiet -- every other part of the house was bombarded with other restless members of the family. Mrs. Xavier seemed to always be complaining or making obnoxious comments about anything and everything. Raven was on the more neutral side of the arguments, whereas her stepfather didn’t care much about their discussions. Cain lingered in the background some, poking fun at Raven and Charles whenever he got the chance.

“I see.” He replied simply, though, he could think of several other rebuttals -- but most seemed far too rude. One hand rose from his thigh and went up to take the cup of tea that Charles had just poured for him, taking a small sip. His eyes looked over the rim of the delicate cup, then averted to the window when the brunette’s own gaze flickered up -- meeting his own for a fraction of a second.

It was obvious that Erik was treading carefully through their conversation -- while Charles had always been able to speak pleasantly with nearly everyone, he knew that it wasn’t always quite so simple for others. He cleared his throat quietly and shifted slightly in his seat, searching for something to say that could put them on more comfortable grounds. There was only so much small talk one could endure, after all, and he’d never truly been one for silence. He was opening his mouth to speak when, by chance, his eyes met Erik’s over the rim of the other man’s tea cup and he stopped, whatever question he was preparing to voice fading quickly from his mind.

There was a long moment of silence, during which Erik looked away and Charles busied himself with choosing a scone from the plate to his right. He wasn’t entirely sure what flustered him so when it came to Erik; things were generally perfectly suitable when they spoke to one another, but Charles couldn’t quite understand the uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach or the way words would simply fail him when those too-sharp eyes focused on him. He cleared his throat again and took a hasty sip of tea, hoping that the silence hadn’t stretched too terribly long.

“I trust William has been looking after you over the past few days, correct?” he said amiably, his tone once again smooth and friendly. “He’s been with our family for as long as I can remember; I’ve always been rather fond of him, as few and far between as our meetings may be.”

William, from what Erik had seen, appeared to be a genuinely nice fellow. He was smart, even if he didn’t look to be, and he told you how it was, even if you didn’t want to hear it. At first, his bluntness was rather unnerving, but Erik, despite the short span of time, had grown accustomed to his behavior. Erik nodded. “Yes, he has.” He placed the teacup back down on the saucer, but kept his hand on the tabletop. His other hand remained unoccupied, still balled up into a fist on his thigh. “He’s…really something.” That last statement slipped from Erik’s lips in the form of a whisper, followed by a brief chuckle.

There. They’d slipped back into comfortable territory, stumbling -- albeit a tiny fraction haphazardly -- into some sort of common ground. Charles smiled, at ease again; the anxious knot in his stomach loosened a bit and he allowed himself to relax. Taking another sip of his tea, he couldn’t help but chuckle himself at what Erik said about their eldest groundskeeper. William certainly was a character, and always had been; he’d worked for their family since Charles’ childhood, when his father was still alive and his mother was far less domineering, and both Xavier children had found the old man to be immensely entertaining. Raven had long since detached herself as much as she could under their mother’s watchful eye, but Charles had slipped past, forming friendly relations with much of the staff.

“Quite,” he said with another laugh, blue eyes bright with mirth. “He’s taken quite a liking to you, I can tell.”

At first, Erik thought William took a liking to him because another member of help meant a little less work that he had to do. In fact, that was not true. William seemed to genuinely like him -- which was far more than he could say for most of the people he met. Another part of it was that William had another someone to talk to -- someone who has been through a lot of the stuff he has. For Erik, it was easy to relate to him, which was why he liked him so much. Had William opened up to Charles -- or any other member of the family before about his past? Erik guessed not.

“Glad to know.” Erik replied simply as he stared down at his tea, scrambling through his mind in search of something to say next. Now that the atmosphere had become less tense, he figured finding a topic to start on would be far easier than it had been.

There was a nagging, persistent voice in the back of Charles’ head that wanted him to press further, ask questions that he didn’t deserve to know the answers to. He’d always had the rather unfortunate habit of attaching himself to people far too easily, throwing himself headfirst into their lives at the slightest pang of sympathy in his chest. Erik was no exception to this -- in fact, he was perhaps the only person Charles had taken such great pains toward. Usually, these relationships were fleeting; an acquaintance met in town or at one of the unfortunate social gatherings his mother always dragged him along to, an old friend from boarding school who had fallen into some sort of misfortune and come round for a visit just to see a friendly face. But this, this inexplicable urge to get to know Erik, to weave through his secrets (for Charles knew he had many of them) and help him, was something he couldn’t rightfully put a name to or explain, even in his own mind.

The smile faded from his face as he took another sip of tea, serious again. Erik was staring down at his own cup, perhaps doing the same sort of mental scrambling Charles himself was; he busied his hands with the task of adjusting a cufflink until he was able to piece together what exactly he wanted to say.

“You’ll have to forgive me for the intrusion,” he began quietly, still tentatively moving through the question he was dying to simply blurt out, “but I can’t help but wonder, Erik -- and I know it is not rightfully any of my business, of course -- how, exactly, you ended up living in such...unfortunate circumstances on the streets.” The knot was back in the pit of his stomach again, painfully twisted and tight. He had no desire to push Erik away with his question; one’s past was a very touchy subject often, no matter the social status, and he was sure that Erik’s was no exception. Worrying his bottom lip for a moment, Charles cast a glance up at the other man’s face, trying to read his expression.

It was then that Erik looked up from his tea, grief tugging at every muscle in his handsome face. Clearly, it was a tender topic. He hadn’t quite expected Charles to touch upon it, at least not now. What Erik had expected was Charles to ask him how he was adapting and maybe share a laugh or two before he returned to work.

Erik swallowed thickly around the uncomfortable lump in his throat, his past suddenly replaying in his mind like a bad dream. “I’m better off on the streets compared to where I was.” He said sorrowfully, hand clenched so tight his blunt nails dug into his dirty palm. “My parents were killed when I was very young. I was taken in by a man named Schmidt…” His jaw clenched as the name passed his lips. “I stayed with him for longer than I cared to…and it was a few years ago that I decided I wasn’t going to tolerate him anymore. So, I left.”

Erik averted his gaze from Charles concerned face to the window, staring out over the lawn. “I’ve managed to get by on a few meaningless jobs. I’ve earned money -- not nearly a sufficient amount -- but I’ve earned some nonetheless. It got me a meal or a night of shelter here and there.” Very few people wanted to waste their time trying to help him out, so he would be lucky if they decided to give him any sort of job. Those who did typically wanted him out as soon as the job was done -- some wouldn’t pay up -- which got Erik into even more trouble.

\---

He knew he shouldn’t have said anything from the moment the words left his mouth -- they hung suspended in the air for a long moment, and Charles wished that they were tangible enough that he could reach out and snatch them back, hide them away and pretend that the topic had never arisen. The overwhelming amount of grief that flashed across Erik’s face was enough to tie his stomach in a number of uncomfortable knots; he wanted to do anything to wipe that expression off of his face, but he’d asked, and now he was going to get an answer, and it wouldn’t have been fair of him to simply ask that they forget the whole matter.

Charles remained quiet while Erik told his story, biting back any remarks he may have wanted to make. He could have offered pity -- or sympathy, and very easily -- but he doubted that Erik wanted that; Erik, with his storm grey eyes that were looking so far past him, not just out the window but years and years back. He frowned and let silence fall between them for a long moment as he struggled with something to say; he’d heard many a sad story, but there was something different about Erik’s, something raw and real that left him unsettled.

“Oh, Erik, I’m terribly sorry.” he finally said, fidgeting awkwardly because Erik wasn’t looking at him and he wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way or not. “Forgive me for asking. I had no idea.”

“I didn’t expect you to know.” Erik said quickly, his tone a little more harsh than he’d intended. He bowed his head in shame, both for telling about his past and snapping at Charles when he did not deserve it. “I…I’m sorry.” Erik looked back to the noble, a twinge of regret in his grey eyes. “On your end, no apologies are needed.”

The air that now lingered between the two men was incredibly awkward, making Erik shift uncomfortably in his seat. Should he leave? Should he apologize -- again? Should he stay silent? For now, he decided to let Charles make the next move --- too afraid to make the wrong one.

\---

The fact that Erik snapped angrily at him wasn’t entirely unpredictable -- he never should have meddled in the other man’s past or asked such foolish questions, and he felt a stab of guilt when Erik lowered his head. Charles frowned again, terribly uncomfortable, and he wished that this was as easily handled as any other situation he ever got himself into, with a handful of words and a quick smile. He cleared his throat and looked up when Erik apologized, his head shaking almost involuntarily in protest; he didn’t deserve an apology, especially not from Erik.

“Oh no, my friend,” he said quietly. “Please do not apologize to me for anything.” There was still tension in the air, almost as heavy as when they’d first entered the study and settled for small talk, and Charles wanted it to disappear. He shifted again, looking away from Erik and toward the window, though nothing of interest lay behind the glass. When his gaze returned to the man sitting across from him once again, he was struck by the sense of regret that flicked across his face. “I never should have asked, it was terribly foolish of me.” Without thinking, he reached out, and his hand was halfway across the small table when a voice rang out from the stairs.

“Charles!” Sharon Xavier’s voice was shrill against the quiet, loud even from the landing. “Charles, whatever are you doing up there? You’re needed downstairs immediately.”

With a pained grimace that he couldn’t quite conceal, Charles withdrew his hand and cleared his throat as he rose from his seat. “I’m sorry.” he said again, though for what he wasn’t entirely sure. “Please excuse me.” Before Erik could answer, he turned on his heel and left the study, the door closing silently behind him.

 **-End of Chapter Five-**


	6. Chapter 6

**Not Alone - AU**

 **Chapter Six**

\--

Every few weeks, his mother grew restless of the company her own family provided and arranged a dinner party with one of the prestigious neighboring families -- the Cassidy’s were welcome faces across the dinner table, and upon their arrival in the neighborhood, the Summer’s boys had become quick favorites of Charles’s. Her favorite house guests, however, were the MacTaggert’s, whose daughter had very quickly become a most esteemed young woman in his mother’s eyes. She was, in Sharon Xavier’s opinion, what every young woman should be -- lovely and talented, with an agreeable demeanor and pleasing background, a catch for any young man looking for a wife. Though he certainly tried to, Charles couldn’t ignore the looks his mother gave him when she said this, the calculating gleam in her eye and the way she smiled far more pleasantly than usual anytime the young Miss MacTaggert surfaced in conversation.

Despite the unrest within the household at the unexpected arrival -- and persistent stay -- of Erik, a dinner party had long since been arranged (“Weeks,” he’d heard his mother snapping at Raven behind the closed door of her powder room, “I’ve had this planned for weeks.”) and it would not have been proper form for such an event to be cancelled. Five families and a number of other guests from the city would be in attendance; a larger number than per usual, but his mother had always been given to fits of fancy, and if she wanted such a statement made at her own home, then she would surely receive it.

“Charles.”

He was fiddling with his cuff links when he heard his mother’s voice just outside of his door; it wasn’t a question or a request of any time, and the door swung open easily a moment later. She surveyed the room with apparent dissatisfaction, her gaze flickering from the pile of books on the bedside table (he’d promised himself that he would pick them up today and return them to the study) to the set of clothes thrown haphazardly over the armchair in the corner. Though there was still quite some time until anyone was supposed to arrive, she had already changed from her day dress into a wine-colored gown, her hair pinned back neatly and a rather substantial necklace hanging from her neck. She cleared her throat quietly and crossed the room, seating herself on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Here, let me help you.” There was a gentle edge to her voice, so uncharacteristic that Charles quickly associated it with her desire to tell him something that he would probably not deem very good news. She reached out, thin fingers smoothing out any wrinkles in the sleeves of his suit. “I had tea with Mrs. MacTaggert the other day, in case you were not aware of it.”

“Did you?” Charles watched her methodical movements; his mind drifting to a time when they weren’t so forced or cold, when she laughed and smiled and allowed her world to revolve around something other than marriage, to the years that had passed and the number of reasons things could have changed, to his own life and the twists it had taken, especially over the past week, and then finally to Erik, who was somewhere on the grounds with William and the others. They hadn’t spoken much since their tea in the study -- Charles, for one, was almost ashamed to approach him, embarrassed by the fact that he had unearthed such personal and painful information from the other man, and though he caught sight of him more often than strictly necessary, he could never quite bring himself to speak.

“Yes, I did.” Mrs. Xavier said with the faintest hint of a smile. “We spoke often of you two.”

He looked up, eyebrows raising. “Oh?”

The smile widened and she nodded, drawing her hands away from his sleeves. “Moira is quite fond of you, as I’m sure you might have been aware. I do believe that she fancies you.”

An uncomfortable knot twisted in the pit of his stomach and he simply nodded, his mind jumping to the future he would have with Moira -- she was a lovely girl, truly she was, but he had no interest in her, for talented as she was, there was very little that could be said between them. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it?” Mrs. Xavier was nearly beaming now, her eyes bright with the possibilities. “You two will surely have to dance tonight, possibly twice in a row -- Charles, you must understand what a handsome couple you would make...”

He stood, slipping into his jacket and nodding again -- it was such an automatic action, something he was barely aware of doing at all. Handsome couple. Dancing. Twice in a row. Smart match. He swallowed and forced a smile for his mother’s benefit, for she was staring at him expectantly, and he was once again in her favor for the time being. “I’d love to.”

Mrs. Xavier stood as well, smoothing down his shoulders and plucking a piece of lint from his coat. “Wonderful, Charles.” she said as she turned to go, his other misgivings obviously forgotten for the time being. “I’ll see you downstairs, and don’t be late.”

The door closed behind her as quietly as it had opened, and now that he was alone, Charles could no longer ignore the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

\---

Erik should have known that something extravagant was in the works when Mrs. Xavier graced William and himself with her presence early that morning. It was unusual to see her roaming the yard without Raven or someone else in her company, so it must have been for a special case. She was patrolling the lawn, pointing a patronizing finger this way and that way, the other groundskeepers reluctantly nodding as she spouted endless demands. Erik returned his attention back to the task at hand when she’d approached them; letting William seize the reins in assuring her that everything would be done in time for the festivities taking place that evening. She left, but not without shooting Erik a scornful glance as she sidestepped a pile of dirt in her path, heading back into the house to attend to further matters.

William confirmed that Erik could count on her being this stringent at least once every couple weeks. From what Erik learned, she was big on throwing lavish parties -- inviting only their wealthiest neighbors to the soiree. Due to the prestige of some of their guests, everything had to be above and beyond Mrs. Xavier’s normal standards. All of the bushes in the front and back yards had to be neatly trimmed, flowers freshly watered, weeds pulled, pathways cleaned of all dirt and debris, and so on and so forth. There had been so much that needed to be done in so little time. Thankfully, with the help of the rest of the staff, they were all very near finished.

A sigh left Erik’s lips as William clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We’re just about done, boy. Guests will be arrivin’ soon.” The sun was just beginning to set, which sent the rest of the groundskeepers into a frenzy as they hurriedly picked up the messes they’d managed to make while attending to Mrs. Xavier’s chores. William turned around to examine the backyard, going through his mental checklist, using his fingers to count off the tasks that had been completed.

Erik grunted in turn and kneeled down to pick up the numerous twigs and leaves surrounding one of the bushes he’d just trimmed. He glanced up but a moment to the balcony just outside Charles bedroom. He’d caught him staring out at the lawn on more than one occasion, and right now he was standing with his mother in front of the large bay window. Their lips were moving -- and for the first time since Erik had been here, he desperately wanted to know what was being said between them. He wouldn’t have cared if Charles had been doing an equal amount of speaking, but for the most part, his lips were not moving.

Erik watched as Mrs. Xavier plucked something from Charles dress jacket, then smooth out the shoulders. From what he could see, she was not smiling (of course that was nothing new). Moments after, she turned away from her son and departed from the room, leaving Charles alone.

What he saw next was Charles redirect his view from the door to the window, their gazes locking for a few short moments. It was already too late when Erik realized that Charles was indeed looking back at him. There was something about his expression that made Erik very uncomfortable. He didn’t look at all pleased -- and Erik could bet it was because of the matter that he and his mother had just discussed. Now, he really wanted to know what it was about.

In the meantime, Erik looked back down, intent on finishing the chore he’d started without looking back up at Charles bedroom window.

\---

As soon as he was certain that his mother would not be returning to his bedroom, he stood from the edge of the bed, too anxious to remain seated. His mind kept drifting back to Moira, who would be arriving, undoubtedly, in a very short amount of time and with whom he would be expected to spend much of the evening -- his mother had sounded so pleased when she’d been speaking to him, and a small part of him wanted to cling to that approval, but he knew that he could never allow himself to. Moira’s face flashed in his mind, smiling and pleasant, but it was Erik’s face that followed and lingered, much to Charles’s confusion and slight discomfort. Erik, with his stormy grey eyes and sharp face, his hidden past and life that was so very different from Charles’s own, who should have just been a wayward stranger, not such a quick, strange attachment.

He didn’t realize that he had been pacing until he found himself at the window before the balcony, momentarily blinded by the setting sun. The lawns had been perfectly manicured in the course of the day, prepped and ready for the guests that would fill them during the evening, and many of the members of the grounds keeping staff still milled about the grass. He could see William by a line of trees and just a few feet away from him stood Erik, bent at the waist as he collected the fallen branches from a bush he’d been trimming. Charles paused and looked down, watching him work -- he still wasn’t quite sure what to think of the other man, or why there was a knot in the pit of his stomach whenever his thoughts drifted. Though he’d only been there a week, Charles felt attached to Erik and perhaps he cared for him more than he rightfully should have, but as much as he struggled to, he couldn’t place a name to it. He shouldn’t have felt anything more than detached sympathy, but that was the very last thing that came to mind.

Erik looked up suddenly, meeting his gaze even though Charles hadn’t been aware that he was staring. He couldn’t bring himself to look away -- Erik was staring at him and he couldn’t read his expression and that knot was back in his stomach and Erik was still staring at him -- and he remained almost rooted to the spot for a few moments, hands clasped tightly behind his back. It was Erik who broke the contact, dropping his eyes back to the grass and bending again, effectively blocking his view of Charles. For a moment, he simply stood there as though he wasn’t rightfully aware of his actions (and perhaps he wasn’t) before he finally turned from the window and left the bedroom for the party that was beginning downstairs.

 **-End of Chapter Six-**


	7. Chapter 7

**Not Alone - AU**

 **Chapter Seven**

\---

The sound of laughter and hum of conversation greeted him long before he reached the lower levels of the house; the party, it seemed, had grown in the past few minutes, with the number of guests nearly doubling from what he could hear from the stairwell. Buttery light spilled through the dining room and parlor and onto the back lawns -- through the large windows, he could see an array of fashionably dressed men and women milling about, his mother’s best glassware balanced precariously in their hands and forced smiles on their faces. He didn’t have to be present among the guests to know what sort of conversation was passing between them -- he’d been to enough of his mother’s own parties to know the topics that circulated, each and every one of them a fraction more boring than the last -- and he sighed quietly, mentally preparing himself for the next few hours.

It was Raven who found him first, catching him by the elbow before his instincts got the better of him and he returned upstairs to his bedroom. She was dressed beautifully as always; long navy gown with a copious amount of fine embroidery, blonde curls arranged and pinned back neatly. “There you are,” she said brightly, smiling and leaning in close to his ear. “Do not even toy with the idea of leaving early, Charles.” The words were meant for only him and he couldn’t help but smile, albeit a little ruefully, and allow her to slip her arm through his as they descended the stairs together.

“And miss the party?” he said just as quietly as they neared the guests waiting below. “I would not dream of it.”

Raven snorted -- a rather unladylike gesture, he thought -- and hid her smile behind her free hand, though she did manage to dig her elbow into his ribs as a brief act of revenge. “I would hope not.” she said, putting on a bright smile for their guests. “The Cassidy’s and Summers’ have already arrived, and I do believe that all three boys are looking for you. You are required to be their entertainment, it would seem.”

“They’re welcome company.” he said, smiling at one of their elderly neighbors. “I’ll have to look for them.”

“And don’t forget, Charles,” Raven said in a way that was teetering on the edge of patronizing, “you are required to dance with a certain Miss MacTaggert twice in a row at some point this evening. Enjoy your reprieve while you can.”

She slipped easily out of his arm without another word and smiled at him over her shoulder as she disappeared through the small crowd of guests cluttering their parlor. He shook his head as he watched her go, the top of her head just visible over the others, before he himself turned to leave the house and venture onto the back lawns in search of his friends.

Halfway across the lawns, however, he was intercepted once again -- in retrospect, he should have slipped through the crowd instead of striding across clearly open space -- this time by his mother, who also had her arm looped through Moira MacTaggert’s.

“Charles, there you are.” his mother said, smiling brightly at him. “I’ve been looking all over for you -- have you said hello to Moira yet?”

“Miss MacTaggert.” Charles bowed easily, an automatic gesture that was almost as much of a habit as breathing. “How do you do?”

“Lovely, thank you.” Moira said quietly, blushing scarlet when he took her hand kissed it quickly. “It’s wonderful to see you, Mister Xavier.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He could feel his mother’s eyes boring holes into him as he spoke, ensuring in her own silent way that he say everything he was supposed to. “And please, call me Charles.”

Moira smiled and blushed again, murmured a quiet ‘if you insist,’ while his mother took a step away from them. “You will have to excuse me, I’m afraid; the Salvadore’s have just arrived.” She left them there, flashing one more brilliant smile as she walked off in the direction of their newest and most exotic neighbors.

\---

As guests began to flood the Xavier mansion, Erik had taken the liberty of relocating himself to the adjacent side of the property. The sun had just gone down, so there wasn’t much more he could do in the darkness that shrouded a considerable portion of the backyard. Some guests occupied themselves in the light there was, and by the looks on their faces he could assume they were engaged in rather dull conversations. He didn’t quite understand why they continued to return to these parties if they showed no particular interest in being there at all.

Erik could hear the faint chatter of the guests from where he stood, along with some soft music, which only added to the ambiance of the party. It was everything he imagined one of these parties would be (because of his low status in society, he was unworthy to attend such a gathering). For the sake of not tarnishing the families reputation, Erik kept himself as scarce as he could manage, all the while picking up the garden tools he’d made use of throughout the afternoon and tossing them into the nearby wheelbarrow. William had long since disappeared into his tiny shack; leaving Erik to finish what he insisted could wait until morning.

Erik heaved a sigh as he lifted his head to curiously observe the party-goers ambling about the freshly cut lawn; Mrs. Xavier was talking to two different women -- one of which she had loosely linked an arm with. She was grinning from ear to ear, looking from the young woman next to her to the one across from her. Seconds later, her gaze averted from her two guests to the small stairs descending from the back door; Charles was slowly striding down the steps, slightly leaning to his left to whisper something in Raven’s ear. It was then that she smiled as she departed, leaving Charles alone at the bottom of the short staircase.

Erik swallowed thickly as his stomach turned -- more than anything he wanted to walk over and keep him company. He’d wanted to spend more time with the man ever since their rather personal discussion a few days prior. However, given all the work he had to do and how set Mrs. Xavier was on keeping Charles from socializing with the help, it was nearly impossible.

He watched as the young noble warily crossed the lawn, politely nodding his head at whomever he happened to run into, not saying more than a few words before he continued to walk. It was easy to see that Charles wasn’t incredibly overjoyed to be at this event, either. Mrs. Xavier, along with the younger brunette, rushed over to meet Charles in the middle of the yard. Erik’s chest tightened uncomfortably when Charles leaned over to kiss the top of this woman’s hand -- who was this? Mrs. Xavier seemed to favor her plenty, judging by how enthusiastic she appeared to be whilst introducing her to her son.

As Erik put two and two together, the blood in his body ran cold. He did his best to try to not jump to conclusions, but his mind was continuously flooded with ‘what ifs’. He didn’t quite understand why he cared at all about Charles personal life -- nor did he understand why he found himself not wanting to watch him with her. With that, Erik turned away from the pair (Mrs. Xavier had gone into the house with the woman she had been conversing with) and then proceeded to push the wheelbarrow over to the side of William’s shack.

Dread shook him to the very core as he realized there was nothing left to do but go back to his room --- which he would have to cross through the party to get to. He ambled along the edge of the lawn, trying to remain out of the numerous guests line of sight. For the most part, he succeeded, but when he looked over to Charles (even though he promised himself he wouldn’t), he found he was looking right back at him over the woman’s shoulder. An unreadable expression was currently plastered on his handsome face. He was smiling --- however, there was nothing genuine about it. The woman in front of him failed to recognize the fraudulent grin, but for some reason, Erik could see right through his pleasant façade.

Erik took the stone steps two at a time, feeling the holes that Charles piercing eyes practically burned into his backside. A few of the distinguished guests stared as he opened the back door to go into the estate, disgust tugging every muscle in their faces. Over the years, Erik had grown accustomed to such looks, so it was easy to pay them no mind at all.

His eyes slowly scanned the parlor, trying to calculate the simplest route up to his bedroom. Several of the guests glared daggers in his direction, wrinkling their noses at his appearance. Erik’s clothes were filthy from working in the garden all day long, his hair was disheveled, and he probably had a smudge or two of dirt on his face. Bowing his head politely, Erik carefully made his way through the crowd, being sure not to get a spec of dirt on any of the nearby guest’s gowns or tuxedos -- knowing full well that would mean trouble for him -- more trouble than he cared to get into at the moment.

“Who’s that?” He heard somebody say, but kept walking, getting closer and closer to his destination. This voice, a woman’s, managed to make the simplest question sound absurdly offensive.

“Him?” Mrs. Xavier was the next one to speak -- her tone filled with utter revulsion. “Charles unfortunately acquired a stray earlier last week.”

Erik clenched his jaw at the comment, the furrow between his brows deepening as he reached the bottom of the stairs. When he first was admitted to the residence, he only assumed he was a burden. Now, Mrs. Xavier made it very clear that he was not welcome.

\---

He watched his mother go with the tiniest pang of annoyance; she’d done this on purpose, of course -- led Moira over with a harmless smile, baited and hooked him until he was trapped in a corner without anywhere else to run. It would have been impossibly rude of him to excuse himself from Moira’s company so early in the evening, especially when she was looking at him so expectantly. He may not have wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to dash her hopes quite so quickly. There would be another moment of confession, surely, somewhere down the line, but it would not occur tonight.

After another long moment of silence, Charles cleared his throat and smiled again, shifting easily into the role he was meant to play. “You look quite lovely tonight, Miss MacTaggert.” he said kindly, a line he’d rehearsed many times and with many other promising young ladies. It worked, just as it always had: Moira blushed again and dropped her gaze.

“Thank you, Mis -- Charles.” she looked up again, letting out a slightly embarrassed laugh. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“My mother would like to invite you over for dinner again.” Moira said, obviously scrabbling for a topic of conversation that would be somehow entertaining.

He caught himself before he allowed his expression to falter; another dinner would mean another opportunity for both of their mothers to further their discussion on marriage, and that was the very last thing he wanted. But if the invitation was presented, there was no way his mother would allow him to refuse it.

“Oh,” he said quickly, recovering himself. “I will...look forward to it, quite.”

It was then that he noticed someone else walking across the lawns; around them, a few of the conversations had quieted considerably, and he couldn’t help but notice the sidelong glances that were being cast. Erik was there; his head bent low and his hands clenched in fists at his sides, moving as quickly and discreetly as possible in the direction of the house. Charles kept his face neutral for Moira’s sake -- she didn’t need to turn around, there was no need for him to have her see the young man he’d taken in on the way home from his dinner with her and endure that explanation. She didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and though she was still speaking, he wasn’t aware of what exactly she was saying, because Erik chose that moment to look up and meet his gaze.

It lasted only a moment, but it was enough -- Charles wanted to go after him, to leave behind Moira and the rest of the party and finally have the conversation that they so desperately needed to have. But Erik was already looking back down, moving through the crowd of exquisitely dressed men and women and looking terribly out of place. He watched him leave, drawing his attention away from his retreating figure only when Moira called his name.  
“Charles, are you all right?”

“My apologies.” he said quickly, his smile widening. “Would you...care to dance?”

She looked confused for a moment but she smiled, reaching out to loop her arm through the one he offered to her. “I would love to.”

He led her back inside, where the dance floor and small orchestra awaited, where he could allow himself to be lost, if not momentarily, in the routine and the movement of his feet and the solid weight of his arm around her waist, and where he could try his very, very best not to think of Erik.

\---

As Erik ascended the grand staircase, Mrs. Xavier’s slanderous words repeatedly echoed in his mind. To her, he was merely a stray animal dragged in by her overly-sympathetic son. Until now, Erik managed to turn the other cheek to her scornful behavior. From the very beginning, he knew that she did not approve of him being there, even if he did tend to the grounds -- only requiring the slightest bit of hospitality in return.

Erik clenched his jaw as he made it to the top of the stairs, turned a corner, and proceeded down the long corridor to the guest room Charles allotted to him. A couple of the maids quickly stepped out of his path, keeping their mouths shut -- for they thought better than to ask him what was wrong. Personally, they did not know much about Erik. He was a man brought in from the street after engaging in a bar fight -- there was no telling what he could be capable of.

A short moment later, Erik pushed open the door to ‘his’ room then slammed it shut behind him. He wasn’t concerned that anyone downstairs heard it -- the music and loud banter more than likely overpowered the sound that reverberated off the walls. Anger coursed like molten lava through his veins as he mauled over the words over and over again.

 _“Who’s that?”_

Erik plopped down onto the edge of the bed and dragged a hand idly through his already mused hair. How could she still think so low of him after all the hours of rigorous labor he put in? How could she find the heart to criticize him -- when he had shown no disrespect? In fact, he was more than grateful he had been able to stay, even if he spent his days working on the property until every muscle ached. It was worth it if it meant having a roof over his head. It was worth it because he got to see Charles.

Erik’s face fell as the realization dawned on him. Charles, in essence, had made his stay bearable. He didn’t see him as often as he may have liked, but it was the occasional glances across the lawn, the smiles from the bedroom window, and the short conversations that kept him grounded all this time. The lingered suspicion that Mrs. Xavier did not appreciate his company did not bother him…until now. Truth be told, he would much rather be on the streets than under her continuous scrutiny.

 _“Charles unfortunately acquired a stray earlier last week.”_

Since he had no possessions (his clothes were promptly disposed of, as they were not suitable for any man to wear), leaving would be rather easy. He didn’t have to leave any notice. He didn’t have to say any goodbyes. He would be able to just walk out the front door and never look back. Even though his luck had been bad thus far, he had high hopes that it would turn around once he went back to the life he was accustomed to.

Once a decision was made, Erik stood up from the bed and advanced towards the door, then briskly making his way back down the hallway. Within a few short moments, the staircase came into view and without a second thought, Erik began to descend them. Several of the partygoers were revolted that he’d actually come back down -- without making himself look the slightest bit presentable first (not that he would be permitted to attend the party at all). They shook their heads, and then continued on with their conversations. He was not bound to the estate by any means (even though he felt he was), but he was determined to make his exit as quickly as possible.

Upon walking down the steps, Erik noticed that Charles and Moira were no longer conversing in the backyard, but that they were now in the middle of the dance floor, slowly moving with the music. A huge, almost ridiculous grin was plastered on the woman’s face. Charles was smiling as well, but it was merely a fraction of his dance partner’s. He also noted that Mrs. Xavier was on the opposite end of the room, watching intently as the two danced in perfect synchronization with one another.

Erik scowled under his breath; another reason not to stay. He didn’t think he could take seeing this woman all over him -- as she had been all night long. There was no telling what that relationship might turn in to, but Erik could assume where Charles mother wanted it to go.

Erik carefully maneuvered his way through a swarm of party guests, pushed open the heavy front mahogany door, and strode outside. Without taking so much as a glimpse back at the mansion, Erik began to walk the gravel path that led to the entrance gates. For a moment, he wasn’t as eager to return to the life that had been much simpler…

And he had one person to blame for that.

\---

Once the music began -- a very familiar waltz, the first dance an instructor had taught Raven and himself so many years ago -- it was easier for Charles to allow his mind to wander. He found very little enjoyment in dancing when his thoughts were elsewhere; focused not on the smiling woman in his arms but the young man upstairs, the man he still could not figure out for the very life of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles watched Erik ascend the grand staircase on his way to the upper floor (no doubt headed straight for the guest bedroom just a few doors down from Charles’ own) without a second glance back at the party, his back still rigid and arms tight at his sides. But the music changed, reaching its crescendo, and he was forced to turn so that Erik was out of his sight, and he was lost again among a small sea of gowns and suits.

Moira was still smiling at him a little dreamily, and Charles did his very best to smile back and remain at ease, but the expression felt all wrong on his face -- _Erik was upstairs and he was alone and he didn’t belong here, not in this mansion with its cold empty rooms and even colder people_ \-- and he hoped that Moira wouldn’t notice. He wanted more than anything to leave, even though he didn’t rightfully have an excuse to do so. His absence would be noted and no doubt whispered about -- even from across the room, Charles could feel his mother’s eyes on his back -- and there would be no suitable explanation for his sudden exit, especially if the reason behind it involved the young man he’d brought in from the streets of the city.

Charles began to wonder, not for the first time, just where his sudden fascination (he refused, at this point, to call it anything other than that, even if his mind whispered a dozen other possibilities) stemmed from. In the time the other man had been staying at the mansion, their encounters had been brief and very few in number; aside from the glances and smiles Charles couldn’t help but give through corridor and bedroom windows and the handful of excuses he made to cut through the lawns just where Erik happened to be working, he had not yet been given the chance to spend a lengthy amount of time with him. He knew very little about the man, both past and present, but perhaps that was what drew him in -- Charles had always been fascinated by the unknown, the prospect of something unforeseen, and he was able to recognize that in Erik.

He and Moira turned again as the music seamlessly changed into something slower, a chance for any tired couples to retreat from the floor. Moments into the change of pace, Charles caught sight of Erik again, still dressed in the same clothes he’d worked in all day. Though their eyes never met, Charles knew that something was wrong -- there was fury in his eyes and his jaw was clenched tight as he turned the corner and disappeared again. There was only one place he could have been going -- the corridor led to the front doors and the front doors led to the gravel path winding away from the mansion and the gravel path led _away, away, away,_ back to the city and to whatever sort of life Erik led before he found him. And while he held no attachment to the other man, the thought of him leaving so quickly made him nearly sick, and he knew in that moment that he had to stop him. He stumbled through a few of the steps and nearly landed on Moira’s feet before he stopped abruptly, dropping his arm from around Moira’s waist.

“Charles, whatever is the matter with --,” Moira began, alarm causing his voice to rise and her eyes to widen.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Miss MacTaggert.” Charles said hurriedly, an apology on the tip of his tongue. She had never seen Erik, never seen him leave, so he could have many any sort of excuse. “I -- I have to go, I’m terribly sorry, there’s something I need to see to, I’ll only be a moment.”

But he was already drawing away from her, even as she opened her mouth to question him again. He could see his mother step forward, confusion on her face, but he ignored her, because Erik was leaving and he hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t said a word and he was stepping as politely as possible around the dancing couples and other guests in his rush to reach the front door. Behind him, he heard Raven’s surprised “Charles?”, but he ignored her, too, and though he knew there would be hell to pay later, he was out the door and into the night a moment later.

Charles could see Erik already halfway down the path, getting closer and closer to the gates with every passing moment. He quickened his pace, nearly jogging to catch up with him, squinting in the dim light to make out his silhouette.

“Erik!” he called, hoping that the other man would turn around and not ignore him. “Erik!”

 **-End of Chapter Seven-**


	8. Chapter 8

**Not Alone - AU**

 **Chapter Eight**  
\---

“Erik!”

No… _no._

It couldn’t be.

 _“Erik!”_

Charles.

Charles was calling out for him. _Why?_

Erik’s jaw visibly tensed, the furrow on his brows deepening irritably as his destination appeared to be that much further away. Behind him, he could hear the gravel crunching noisily under Charles’ expensive leather shoes, making Erik grimace (he could practically hear Mrs. Xavier scolding him later for ruining the soles).

Erik’s pace considerably quickened, trying to get as far away from the other man as he could, even though he knew it was practically hopeless. Despite the fact that he had not known Charles for more than a week, something told him he wouldn’t be so easily deterred. There was nothing Erik wanted more at that moment than for Charles to turn around and go back to the party. It took every ounce of control he had to not turn around when Charles called for him. Instead, he found his strides becoming more frantic -- eager, even.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, both because of the speed his step had taken on, and the fact that Charles was _still_ undoubtedly following him. He mentally cursed, keeping his attention focused on the property gates that never seemed (no matter how fast he thought he’d been moving) to get any closer.

\---

Erik, of course, did not turn around. He was still hurrying along the gravel path, long strides matching nearly two of Charles’, and even after the second time he called out for him, the other man didn’t stop. If anything, he was moving even faster, determined to put as much distance between himself and Charles as possible. He should have known that Erik wouldn’t stop -- if he wanted to leave, he was going to leave, and there wasn’t anything that Charles could do about it. But that didn’t stop him from quickening his pace into a run of his own, half desperate to catch him before he reached the gates of the property.

“Erik!” he called again, sure he’d yell himself hoarse by the end of the night if it meant stopping the other man long enough to gain some sort of explanation for his abrupt departure from the mansion. “Erik, stop!" _Please._

He was gaining ground, but they were nearing the gates. Erik was still ahead of him, running easily and without a glance over his shoulder, even as Charles called out for him once again. He couldn’t let him get away, not now. Charles had never chased after much of anything in his life, but he was prepared to chase after Erik now.

A few more strides was all it took -- Charles reached out wildly and succeeded in grabbing onto Erik’s arm, yanking him to a halt.

“Erik, _stop._ ” he said, unnecessarily, as he was gripping the other man’s arm so tightly he couldn’t have run if he’d tried.

For a moment, Erik stared at the metal gates in wonderment. How could he have been so close to his, in a sense, freedom, only for Charles to stop him at the very last instant? Charles had been occupied with that _woman_ , so did this unpleasant turn of events mean that Charles abandoned her company in order to come after him?

 _Why?_

There was roughly about twenty feet between him and the gates; truth be told, he would be an idiot if he kept going without hearing what Charles had to say about it (not that he really could -- Charles was much stronger than he looked). Erik waited for his pants to cease almost completely before he turned around, only to be immediately met with Charles searching gaze. He too was panting, but he was staring at him hard with his hand wrapped securely around his bicep. The look he was giving him was unlike any other one he’d seen on him before; to be frank, he didn’t like it. Erik almost felt guilty for having put it there.

\---

There were several long moments in which Erik remained standing with his back to him; had he not been holding onto his arm, Charles was sure that the other man would have simply bolted for the gates that stood so close to them. He’d been so intent on escape -- even before Charles had begun to chase after him, Erik’s steps had been quick and full of purpose, and that purpose had been to put as much distance between himself and the Xavier mansion as possible in the least amount of time. As logical as it would seem to let him simply turn around and leave, Charles couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Erik finally turned to face him, and Charles searched his face, trying to find some hint as to why the other man had left so suddenly. Erik’s face was frustratingly blank and Charles felt a frown tug down the corners of his mouth as he let his hand fall away from Erik’s arm and drop back to his own side.

“Why are you leaving, Erik?”

Erik’s breath caught in his throat. There really was no easy way to say it without sounding completely idiotic; why would he leave this sheltered (although he mostly spends his days working) lifestyle, only to return to one that nearly got him killed?

His arms returned to his sides, fingers curling inwards into a fist when they found nothing to busy themselves with. The awkward silence stretched on for what seemed like minutes, but he knew it to be just a few short moments. Although he was no longer running, Erik still felt like his heart was thrumming against his ribcage. He wasn’t one to get defensive, but the desperate measures seemed to call for it.

“Why did you feel the need to follow me out here?”

Why had he followed him? In retrospect, Charles was just as puzzled with his own actions as Erik seemed to be; he could have just as easily turned his back on Erik’s retreating form and allowed him to leave the mansion without a second thought. They had no attachments to one another -- perhaps, if Charles truly stretched the meaning of the word, they could be friends, but he was the type of person who considered nearly everyone a friend whether they agreed on the sentiment or not -- and Erik obviously felt no remorse toward leaving so suddenly. There had been nothing in his mind but blind panic as soon as he had seen Erik moving toward the door, an unfamiliar feeling that was too sharp and twisted with something deeper that Charles didn’t even recognize.

He looked at Erik helplessly, heaving a sigh and throwing up his hands in a gesture of defeat. How would he ever convince Erik to stay if he didn’t even have a proper reason for chasing after him like a lunatic?

“I don’t know, Erik.” he said finally, the words heavy in his mind. He didn’t know -- he didn’t know why he’d forced Hank to stop the carriage the night, he didn’t know why he’d brought home a bleeding stranger from the city streets, he didn’t know why, for all his secrets, he still cared for a man he hardly knew. “I wish that I had an answer to that question, truly I do, but I’m afraid that I do not.”

Erik’s eyes closed momentarily as an unfamiliar feeling of disappointment sank into the pit of his stomach. Why had he so stupidly anticipated another response? How could he be so naïve as to believe that there was anything else beyond a friendship -- especially since Moira was in the picture? He seemed to make her plenty happy, which was everything and more that Mrs. Xavier wanted. Charles must want it too, for he accepts all proposals to meet and interact with her. If Charles did not know why he came after him, then there was no reason holding him back from leaving.

“I don’t belong here, Charles.” Erik said finally as he averted his gaze to the gravel below. “Both you and I know that.” He wanted to say much more than that. He wanted to tell him the reasons behind him not feeling like he belonged, but he did not want to cause any further strife in the family, especially when it had the potential of making Charles upset.

\---

He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it had been the wrong thing to say. His lack of a proper answer was doing absolutely nothing to convince Erik that his presence at the Xavier mansion was wanted; how could he possibly tell him that he wanted him to stay when he knew that the other man desired everything but that? Charles tugged a hand through his hair in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut against the beginnings of a headache building in his temples.

 _I don’t belong here, Charles._

But he did, or Charles wanted him to, wanted it more than anything he’d wanted in quite some time, if his entire life.

 _Both you and I know that._

“No, Erik.” Charles said forcefully, the same sense of panic welling in the pit of his stomach. “You do. At least in my opinion. Surely you must realize that.”

He paused, unsure of himself, and his gaze dropped from Erik’s downturned face for the briefest of moments.

“Surely you must realize that had I known or thought otherwise, I wouldn’t have followed you out here. I would have simply let you go.”

As much as Erik hated to admit it, Charles did have a point. As far as he could see, what reason would there be for Charles to chase him across the front lawn, jeopardizing his clean and formal appearance, other than to stop him from leaving because he truly did not want him to go? He knew that Mrs. Xavier would not appreciate her son abandoning the party to go chase after some commoner (though, that word may be even too good a classification for what she made him out to be). Erik assumed that if Charles actually did care about what his mother had to say, he would have remained inside and proceeded to woo Moira -- much to his discomfort.

Erik could find no words, appropriate ones anyway, as a retort to Charles statement. He was right, so how was he supposed to argue? His mouth opened, then immediately closed when he found that he truly had nothing to say.

His gaze redirected back up to Charles, who was no longer looking at him, but rather, at the ground that he had his own eyes focused on seconds prior. Least to say, his mother would have a few words to say to him once he returned to the party (after demanding an explanation as to where he went off to in the first place): his hair was mused from running, clothes in a state of slight disarray, shoes that had been freshly polished were now caked with dirt and tiny scratches.

“Charles…” Erik said, then faltered once more. He swallowed thickly around the nervous lump in his throat, flexing his fingers as he contemplated his next move. He had accepted the fact that there was nothing he could say to pursue the argument (at least, to make his side of the conversation remotely convincing). Charles wanted him here. Charles would not have followed him out here otherwise.

Erik took that one step forward to remove the gap between himself and Charles. Ignoring the noble’s brief look of surprise, he closed the distance between their lips.

\---

Charles couldn’t help but think that perhaps he was making a very large mistake -- Erik had never done anything to so much as hint at some sort of attachment to him, friendship or otherwise, and here he was, trying so desperately to persuade him to do something he did not want. There was no reason for Erik to stay at the mansion other than Charles’ own wishes; he was disliked by his mother and stepfather, largely ignored by the majority of the staff, and treated as nothing with no just cause. Though his life on the streets had surely been unpleasant, it had been familiar, something that he was no doubt used to by now.

There was a heavy silence stretching between them and Charles didn’t dare to look up; he heard Erik sigh once, say his name rather hopelessly, and quiet once more. He was at a loss for words, but he readied himself for the inevitable moment when Erik would simply give up and leave, vanishing from Charles’s life as quickly as he had appeared. He heard footsteps, but they weren’t retreating -- Charles looked up quickly, surprise evident on his face as he saw Erik approaching him instead. The first syllable of Erik’s name was out of his mouth before the other man was kissing him; he made a startled noise in the back of his throat but made no moves to draw away.

This wasn’t quite how Erik first pictured this happening (if it ever would at all). He would not, however, deny the fleeting thoughts he’d had about this particular moment. He’d never deemed it appropriate to act on such impure musings -- until now. Of all the other residents in the mansion, Charles was the only one who did not treat him as if he were merely a common man.

One of Erik’s hands went up and placed itself on the side of Charles neck; for reasons he had yet to discover for himself, he was rather pleased when the noble did not immediately pull away, like he first expected him to. At the beginning, it was no more than just a rough crushing of lips, but as it continued, it became a pleasant alternation of tongue and teeth. Charles tasted faintly of white wine and smelled of intoxicating, expensive cologne.

Erik slowly pulled back from the kiss once the need for air arose, much to his dismay. He did not want to look Charles in the eyes, almost in fear of the reaction he would undoubtedly see.

\---

The knots in the pit of Charles’s stomach loosened as soon as Erik placed a hand on the side of his neck; it became apparent that the other man wasn’t planning on pulling away just as Charles wasn’t. He took a step forward, further lessening the space between them, but a few moments later Erik was drawing away from him, anxiety once again clouding his face. Charles felt a lump rise in his throat -- was this Erik regretting what he’d just done? -- and he instinctively took a step back only to step forward again, reaching out a tentative hand to brush his fingers against Erik’s jaw.

“I won’t make you stay.” he said quietly, worrying his lower lip. “But would it be too much to ask for you to reconsider?”

\---

There were only so many places one could go, even on the Xavier grounds -- she’d watched her brother push his way as politely as possible toward the front door and out of it, making his hasty escape into the night, and it was only a matter of moments before Raven was hurrying after him. By the time she wormed her way out from under her mother’s watchful gaze and the attention of the young man she’d been speaking to, Charles was nowhere in sight; she could hear footsteps in the distance and her brother’s far-off shout, something that very quickly alarmed her (he’d been chasing someone, that strange man perhaps, and if he’d hurt Charles there would surely be hell to pay) and with a quick glance over her shoulder descended the mansion’s stairs.

Her hair was falling out of place and she was sure the bottom of her dress was caked with dirt by the time she finally happened upon them; halfway down the path she’d stumbled into the line of trees flanking the wide lane to make less noise, and the low-hanging branches concealed her from view. Her brother wasn’t hurt or being attacked at all, as she’d originally feared, but reaching out toward the man who was still a stranger -- _Erik_ , she forcibly reminded herself, as Charles had told her the man’s name a dozen times at least -- his fingers cupping a strong jaw. There was a look of alarm in Erik’s eyes, as though he were contemplating her brother’s very existence before him, and she felt her face grow hot at the possibility of what she may have just only missed.

Without a word, Raven turned on her heel and ran back toward the mansion, dozens of questions she would need to ask her brother whirling through her mind.

 **-End of Chapter Eight-**


End file.
